


She Told Him That She Loved Him

by mariuspondmercy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, yes all their friends are dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuspondmercy/pseuds/mariuspondmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine and Enjolras survived the barricades and try to build a life out of ruins. This is the story of seven times Éponine told Enjolras that she loved him; and seven times it meant something different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only She Told Him That She Loved Him

**Only she told him that she loved him.**

It had toppled from her lips in the early morning hours after a long night. Not that kind of night, mind you. He had been wounded badly at the barricades, found only mere minutes before his inevitable death. She had been too late to save her beloved Marius, too late to join him in heaven. Had fought just like she had done all her life. Against Montparnasse so he would let her go. But she had been too late for Marius.

 But she hadn’t been too late for him. She had found the man, saved him. Had brought him to a small place which was nothing more than a cold and slightly damp shed. He had never complained though. It would probably result in an infection, he would probably die. Rightfully so. He should’ve died. Every night he lay wide awake, wishing he was dead. Wishing Grantaire hadn’t died for nothing, wishing he could’ve been there for Jehan. Even wishing he would’ve saved Marius, so that lovesick fool could be with his Cosette.

Every night he lay wide awake and every night she would scold him for it. Éponine slept right next to him on the petty excuse of a mattress. Every night she would insist he’d take the thin rug she called a blanket and every night he refused, argued and lost the argument. Every night he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion, pain, and his fever.

Not this night though. This particular night he lay wide awake long after she was asleep already. It rarely happened. She always made sure he slept before she allowed herself to get some rest. But her day had been rough and her night even more so. She worked, what exactly he didn’t know and never bothered to ask. He only knew he had missed her presence throughout the day, her cold hands on his burning forehead,  the way she always cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose when he was on the verge of falling asleep. Even their banter and her slightly cocky, sarcastic attitude. He had missed it, even though he would never admit it out loud.

In the middle of the night she woke up, startled, breathing shallow and quick. Enjolras didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it but her sounds, the fear in her dark eyes pained him more than his gun wound ever could. He had reached out to her cautiously as to not scare her even more. Had placed his hand on her knee. He couldn’t make out much; the moonlight didn’t quite illuminate the whole shed. But he saw enough to see her expression change, to see her relax under his touch.

“I love you”, she said, quickly and fearlessly.

It had been the first time someone had ever told him these words. Only she had said them to him. And only hers counted.


	2. She Only Told Him That She Loved Him

**She only told him that she loved him.**

Though the next morning, it was evident for both that her words were empty and meant nothing. They were words of consolation, words of encouragement. They were meant to help him fight his fever and the guilt, which was still eating him alive. At least it felt like it.

There was this fire burning inside of him. He had felt it before, while he was preparing for the revolution – or rebellion, as the newspapers called it now. It had never been a proper revolution. A failed attempt that had cost the lives of many brave young men and women.

But this time the fire was not fuelling him, it was burning him. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't want to feel so many things at once; he didn't want to be around her anymore.

Not that he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, actually. Enjolras enjoyed her presence, rare as it was. The guilt grew while she was around.

He wasn't very talkative but she all the more. Babbled on and on about how her day has been without ever revealing what she had actually done. He had his suspicions but never voiced them.

She went out early in the mornings, came back for a few hours in the afternoon to make sure he ate properly and to keep him company until she left their shed a few hours later. Éponine usually came back around dinner time, with something to eat for both of them. It was never much, mind you. And never something warm, as they had no means to light a fire. Otherwise the shed would be likely to burn down. Éponine had apologized for it more than once, had managed to get him some soup a few times and some stew a few other times.

When the sun went down, she always left him again and didn't come back until the middle of the night.

But after that one fateful night, she made sure to tell him she loved him every evening before she left. He didn't believe it, she didn't believe it. They both knew about the nature of her declarations. And they both didn't care.

Because every night she told him was a night he fell asleep with a smile on his face. If Éponine, this girl still so in love with Marius, this girl so cruel and dark and full of guilt herself, could love him and care for him, then maybe he could start loving himself again one day, too. Maybe he could forgive himself.

It was about half a year after the fatal incidents at the barricade that Enjolras had recovered enough to sit up and walk short distances again. The first time he stood by himself, Éponine smiled at him, wide and beaming.

"I love you", she said, proud of him and herself.


	3. She Told Only Him That She Loved Him

**She told only him that she loved him.**

It was funny, really. Everyone had known of her affection for Marius. Everyone. She had told her sister, of course, had even told her father by fiercely protecting Marius and Cosette. Montparnasse had known and all of Les Amis.

Once Enjolras had been fit enough to walk, Éponine had gone out searching for a new home. They still needed to hide; her father was surely looking for her, and the police was still searching for the leader of the rebellion, as his corpse has never been found.

It had been roughly eight months now since the fatal incidents at the barricades and yet Éponine didn't feel save. Whenever she parted from Enjolras, she feared for his life, feared someone would find him. The first few months she had been on edge, fearing Javert would find them. He was good at it, really. She eased up a bit when she had heard about his death.

She knew Enjolras couldn't stay in the shed any longer. She didn't know much about medicine and infections but she was aware that Enjolras' recovery would only be hindered by their current living standards.

Her initial idea was to find Cosette and ask her for help. Éponine didn't dare. She didn't dare to seek for the woman who's lover she got killed. She didn't dare to seek for the sister she had treated so badly as a child. But for Enjolras she would do it. She went out to find Cosette and her father, the hope still inside her that maybe, after Javert's death, they hadn't left France. But they were nowhere to be found. Éponine had even gone out of her way and had asked Montparnasse. It had been a mistake, yes, and she still paid for it.

But she had found something. It had taken a while to get Enjolras to their destination, had caused him a lot of pain. But he was grateful nonetheless. Being refugees in a church might not be what he had wanted but it was cleaner, warmer and dryer than the shed could ever be.

She did some light work, helped in the kitchen and prepared the masses. They had separate rooms but Éponine would sit with him most hours of the day until nightfall. They went for walks in the garden; he kept silent while she chatted with the nuns.

About her life before, about how she lost her brother, her lover and two sister. She kept everything vague enough, of course. The fear of being caught was still too present.

Never did Éponine talk about Enjolras. Never did the word 'love' leave her lips when it wasn't directed at him. She didn't tell anyone else she loved him. The world knew about her love for Marius but only Enjolras knew about her love for him.

Maybe it was a treasured secret. Maybe it was untrue. Maybe she feared the nuns would not tolerate lovers. Maybe she didn't want to lie to them about such a powerful thing as love.

"I love you," she told him with a smile every night before she left. Cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and his nose. It was her ritual as it was his to sneak into her bedroom long after dark. Sleeping without her small frame pressed against him had become a habit over the course of the past year and he didn't want to miss it.


	4. She Told Him Only That She Loved Him

**She told him only that she loved him.**

The nuns had given up on trying to separate them shortly after their arrival half a year ago. When they slept separated, they didn’t sleep. Éponine wandered around until her exhaustion caught up with her and she slept on some floor or against a wall. Enjolras lay awake, stared at the ceiling and let his mind run free. It never ended well for neither of them.

It was the silent support they gave each other. Silent, because they never talked about the crucial matters. Enjolras never spoke about his guilt and neither did Éponine. She didn’t share her thoughts about the day at the barricades, never told him about how she had wanted Marius to die with her.

They didn’t share feelings. They didn’t share tears or fears, cravings or yearnings. They didn’t even share their thoughts about the Bible or God. It would mean to admit that neither believed in a God who willingly let young people die. It would mean to admit that they were far from forgetting the barricade, even after all this time.

They were better, yes. Much better, physically. And on some days even mentally. Whenever she wasn’t working, whenever he wasn’t reading, they strolled together through the church gardens. He watched her grow and bloom, like a flower in spring. She started to walk a little taller again, talk a little louder. He noticed the smallest of smiles on her lips when she thought he didn’t look at her. He noticed a small bounce in her walk from time to time, when the sun was shining and her night had been peaceful.

Yet she never told him anything that came from her heart and neither did he. Sometimes there were slips of the tongue, late at night. Mostly from his side. He would bury his face in her hair, breathing her in, while he whispered how much he missed them. He would talk about Grantaire, this fool who meant so much. About Combeferre, his best friend who always kept him right, who always wanted a peaceful revolution. About Courfeyrac, who never failed to make him smile even when the day seemed dark and dull. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he would talk about Marius. How he had hoped he would forget Cosette and join them at the barricade. During those nights, she held him tighter and whispered sweet nothings to make him forget.

“I love you,” her voice would find its way into his heart. It was the only thing she ever said to him as solace. Never talked about the day herself, never spoke about Marius let alone Gavroche. Sometimes he could hear her suppress soft sobs, could feel her trying to gain control about her shaking body.

Yet she never told him anything at all. Not with words. And he never asked for he was sure she would be ready to talk one day. The night was made for secrets and this was theirs. 


	5. She Told Him That Only She Loved Him

**She told him that only she loved him.**

Of course Éponine knew it was wrong. Of course she knew that she should never have had said it. She knew it the second the words had left her lips. She knew the implications, she knew what it did to a person.

She knew because Montparnasse had used this strategy so many times. He had used it to keep her at his side. Just like Éponine had used it to keep Enjolras at her side in a fleeting moment of panic.

It had all started one evening, this feeling inside of her. She had read a book he had given her; one of his favourites. Of course Éponine had wanted to discuss it with him. Her heart full of thrilling anticipation, she had sought to approach him shortly before bedtime.

It was then that she found him in deep conversation with a young nun. Sister Marie-Céline her name was. Éponine thought her beautiful. Marie-Céline had the fairest skin she had ever seen. It reminded her very much of a fairy tale. Of a Greek goddess even. Not quite an Aphrodite, like Cosette was. But certainly a Hera. Éponine envied her. Envied her clear blue eyes and the way they shone in the light. How the rays of the sun danced in her pools of watchet wondering. It was no comparison to her own. Mud and sludge, like the dead leaves of a tree in autumn.

Of course a Persephone could never compete with an Aphrodite or a Hera.

It was the second time in her life Éponine had to face the bitter truth about herself. Nevermind that it had been her who had found him, nevermind that it had been her who had provided his meals for nearly a year, nevermind that it had been her who had nursed him back to health. In the end, she would always be second best. A nun had stolen his heart.

As Éponine approached the lovers, book clutched in her hands, she didn’t realize how his face lit up at the mere sight of her. She didn’t notice how he took a step towards her or the way his hands were shaking only the slightest bit. Too focused on her own heartache, she let the matter of the book drop quickly. There were more important things to discuss.  

“I love you,” she whispered when her eyelids became too heavy to stay open. Éponine made sure to stress that it was her who loved him. Her and no one else. Because how could anyone ever love him once they found out he had killed all his friends.

She felt him stiffen beside her and her heart stopped beating for a fleeting moment. Éponine regretted her words, regretted her attempt to keep him close. He was the sun and the sun could not stay within the shadow. She knew that eventually she would have to let him go. Maybe it was time to do so now.


	6. She Told Him That She Only Loved Him

**She told him that she only loved him.**

They hadn’t stayed with the nuns for long. Only long enough for Enjolras to recover properly. She hadn’t told them about her wounds, about how she still could not move her left arm freely. It was none of their concern. Or of Enjolras’ concern, for that matter. He shouldn’t worry. Even though she didn’t think he would take much interest in her wellbeing.

Enjolras and Éponine didn’t know if they were still wanted, if someone was still looking for them. If a life in Paris was safe. They didn’t know and they didn’t dare trying it. Éponine wanted to avoid running into her family or Montparnasse, while Enjolras knew his every step would lead him towards the scene of his friends’ deaths. Neither wanted to relive the rayless days of their past.

It would be easy for them to start over. Split up, leave everything behind, including the last person left from the sinful life they once led. She could go west, he could go east. She had always managed to get by one way or another, he was clever and charming and would easily find a well-paid job.

Every time she thought about suggesting the parting of the ways during their seemingly endless journey south, her chest began to swell and her whole world caved in. She couldn’t be without him. She couldn’t let go. Not yet at least. Maybe in a few months or years time.

It wasn’t even that Éponine cared deeply about him. She didn’t feel the need to attract his attention at all times, as it had been the case with Marius all those years ago.  She knew about his nightmares as he knew about hers. It would be sanctimonious of her to pretend she didn’t care, that his screams at night didn’t tear her heart apart.

Éponine knew for certain that she loved him. And she hated him all the more for it. She never meant to fall for him. She didn’t even like him that much. His attitude was bothering her, his self-pity was exhausting and his still existing wish to lead a revolution annoyed her more than it scared her.

He knew her feelings towards him, he knew her annoyance. He knew because they kept arguing about the simplest things. Should they eat here or a few meters further to the left? Should they begin their new life in Toulouse or Montpellier? Should they buy cheese or meat from the bit of money she had managed to get somehow?

They didn’t care much about the wishes of the other because they weren’t in love.

“I love you,” she told him one day, while they were sitting on a meadow next to a clear stream. It was the first time she had said it in broad daylight, not hidden in the shadows of the night. Éponine stepped into the sun and risked getting burnt a second time. 

Enjolras merely took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. He didn’t look at her but neither did she feel the need to turn her gaze away from the crystal water.


	7. She Told Him That She Loved Only Him

**She told him that she loved only him.**

It was three and a half years after the barricades that Enjolras and Éponine felt like their lives could finally begin again. Luckily there had never been countless arguments over whether to settle down in a small town or a big one. Neither wanted to move into an eerily quiet village where gossip is all the people have. Too high was the risk of someone finding out their true identities.

It was the question of where to settle down exactly that lead to heated discussions during their days of travel. Marseille or Toulouse? In the end, they decided to start a new existence in Marseille. Partially because it was the gateway to France and jobs where always to be found, partially because Enjolras wanted to live where Étienne Joseph Louis Garnier-Pagès was born. At least that way a part of something rebellious and revolutionary was still in his life.

Éponine had agreed, only to please Enjolras. She would’ve preferred Toulouse, simply because she was not keen on living near the sea. She did not think any good could come off it.

How wrong she had been. The harbour provided plenty of work for Enjolras. Within the two months they had lived in Marseille, he had already worked his way up from a simple worker to the docks’ foreman. As plenty of sailors arrived day and night, the harbour was nothing short of pubs and brothels. Éponine found herself work in one of the pubs. She had specifically asked for working hours that lined up with how Enjolras had to work.

No matter how exhausting her job was, no matter how rude the seamen were, she always had something to look forward to at the end of the day. Every evening when she stepped outside, Enjolras greeted her with a smile and offered her his hand.

It was as if life was beginning to bloom again. If it weren’t for the dreams haunting them, the shadows on the floor which seemed too familiar, the faces in windows which were oddly comforting and yet only brought despair.

Éponine addressed it first. How she could still hear the gunshots, how she could sometimes feel Marius’ warm blood on her hands, how she will forever see Gavroche’s small body dropping to the ground. Enjolras pressed her small frame against his body, his hand running soothingly up and down her back while he whispered that he, too, still thought of that fatal day. How he would think about the loneliness Jehan must’ve felt in his last moments. He told her that on some days he would think of something and automatically turn around to ask Combeferre about his opinion. He still wasn’t accustomed to not hearing Courfeyrac’s laughter or Marius’ chatter about seemingly pointless things.

Maybe life would never be good again. Maybe they just needed more time. Maybe they needed each other to cope.

“I love you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He knew: This time her words were more than mere consolations. This time they were real.

Yes, maybe their lives were forever shadowed by a failed revolution and yes, maybe they were forever scarred from the flames of a once passionate fire. But maybe, in all this darkness and mess, a guiding light had brought them together.

Funny, Enjolras thought to himself, how now he was the one whose life would be black without a woman in his life. How right Marius had been. How he wished he could share this new knowledge with his old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the kudos! I so enjoyed writing this fic and playing with the chapters in the way I did. I hope you all liked it, too!


End file.
